


A Small Family

by 72reasons



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 30 Days of Sherlock, 30 day writing challenge, 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Chapter 10 is an AU that doesn't really fit with the rest - photographer!John and model!Sherlock, Drugs, Established Relationship, Fluff, I love them so much guys, Implied Jolto, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Romance, Sherlock is a drug addict model, Switching, sexual innuendo, wedding vows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 16,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7946890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/72reasons/pseuds/72reasons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Please enjoy this collection of short ficlets prompted by Atlin Merrick's <a href="http://atlinmerrick.tumblr.com/post/149555897153/30-day-challenge-sherlock">post on Tumblr</a>. </p><p>For this, the 30-day Sherlock Writing Challenge, I will be writing about our favorite idiots in love. This is supposed to be fun and silly and help me to practice writing. Not beta'd and I'll cheat a bit - In the interest of time and my RL, I will combine days/prompts sometimes.</p><p>edit: I changed the title of this fic because...well...this is the old title "Johnlock September 30-day Writing Challenge". So...yeah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shopping and Gifts

Sherlock was baffled.

He knew the decomposition rate of human flesh in the deserts of the American west (slow) and in the rainforests of Belize (fast). He knew the mean length of the world’s largest bee (400 mm) and the mean length of the world’s smallest frog (7 mm). He knew daily high and low tides for the Thames through October of 2018. He knew that John loves biscuits and tea.

What he does not know is why anyone would want to put chili pepper in a biscuit.

When he mentioned to Molly that he wanted to get John a small gift and listed all of the things that John liked (well, not _all_ of the things, but what seemed to be appropriate for Molly to know), she suggested this godforsaken tourist trap. Why had he ever listened to her? Now he stood in front of a table full of brightly colored paper and foil rolls, apparently containing dubiously flavored biscuits.

“Some people really enjoy these,” said the flirtatious, mustachioed salesman, leaning into Sherlock's personal space.

Sherlock scrunched up his nose in disdain, “But why do they?”

“Everyone likes to spice it up once in a while, don’t they?” he waggled his eyebrows, one end of his overly large moustache quirked up.

Sherlock was getting better at this, recognizing when someone was chatting him up. Whenever it happened, John found it endlessly amusing.

“I hardly see how adding pepper to a biscuit would spice up anyone’s life,” he said, peering down his nose at Moustache. “Now what really adds excitement to one’s life is a good locked room murder where the victim has been found holding his own heart. That”, he sniffed, “adds excitement.”

Moustache had stepped back during Sherlock’s speech. “Uh...”

“Off you pop.”

With that, Moustache turned on his heels and slinked away. _Actually slinked_ , Sherlock thought.

He grabbed a few chili-free biscuit rolls and a tin of black tea and headed to the front to pay. He paid for the gifts and a non-flirtatious, yet beautiful, young woman wrapped everything up in lovely blue paper. She handed him his shopping bag. He said a quick word of thanks, and turned to leave.

He almost escaped, but something caught his eye. Someone, actually.

Standing in front of a wall of gorgeously luminescent jars was John, in his jeans and Haversack, looking about as confused as Sherlock had been a few minutes previous.

He watched as John picked up a jar to read the label. He would need reading glasses soon, he was squinting to read the fine print. Sherlock could only imagine the fuss he would make. 

Sherlock walked up behind him quietly, leaned slightly over his shoulder and said softly, “Hello.”

“Ah!” John cried, and turned around with hands up, looking like he was ready to box whoever had startled him.

Sherlock caught the jar of honey he had dropped in a perfectly coordinated, graceful catch.

“You scared me, you cock,” he said. But the insult had no bite, and the smile on his handsome face was huge. “What are you doing here?”

“Buying a gift for my boyfriend.”

John looked down at his feet and smiled. His face was turning a lovely shade of pink. He and John had finally come together only a few weeks ago after what seemed to be a lifetime of miscommunication and betrayal. Sherlock tipped his chin up with one finger and leaned down to place a soft kiss on John’s lips.

“Thank you,” John said, taking the bag from Sherlock’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	2. Gardening and Flower Crowns

John and Sherlock were at the Holmes’ house on a gorgeous weekend in spring, taking their tea in the garden, wandering slowly through the flower beds.

“Deadhead them.”

John just looked at him, face totally blank.

“Like this.” Sherlock grabbed just below the base of a faded bloom. His long fingers gripped hard and yanked straight up, pulling the dead flower cleanly from the stem.

John giggled.

Sherlock turned to him, raising one eyebrow at him in question. John stopped giggling and affected his most serious face. Sherlock could tell he was faking and still thought something was funny. With a twinkle in his eyes, he said, “You just grab the base?”

“Yes.”

“And grip it hard?”

“Yes.”

“Then pull?”

Sherlock didn’t answer this time, he just narrowed his eyes at John.

“Do you pull slow or fast?”

He threw a dead Dahlia blossom at John’s head.

“Oi! That almost landed in my tea,” John admonished.

“It would serve you right.” Sherlock walked up to him, standing directly in front of him. He leaned forward to place his lips on John’s ear. John shivered. Lowering his voice to the bottom of his register, he said, “You know perfectly well that you pull slowly at first, then just when it’s ready to pop, you go faster.”

John turned his head to the side and crashed their lips together with a groan, sliding their lips and tongues together wetly right there in the spring sunshine.

xxx

Later when Mummy started wondering where they had gotten to, she opened the screen door and walked down the path. She heard them before she saw them. Soft laughter and quiet murmurings. She heard her youngest son’s voice speaking lowly, then heard John’s high-pitched giggle.

When she rounded the corner, she saw both men sitting on the bench, legs tangled at their ankles, lips swollen and pink. They were talking to each other and grinning, making each other laugh. Their eyelids crinkled at the edges and eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

They were both wearing...crowns...of a sort. Wreaths made of long strings of dead grass dotted with what looked to be dead flower blossoms. Each had the other by one wrist, each trying to wrestle another dead bloom into the other’s crown.

Mummy turned and walked back to the house, sure they had not noticed her. It made her heart swell that Sherlock had found someone who made him laugh, loved him for who he was, and finally brought him some peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	3. Kisses

Greg Lestrade was turning 55. As a milestone birthday, it kind of sucked. It certainly wasn’t like 21, 30, 40, or 50 for that matter. Which was pretty fun he had to admit. At 50, you were young enough to still have some energy. Your kids, your friends’ kids were old enough so that you could have an adult-only holiday once in awhile. No, 55 was sort of boring. But his colleagues at the Met had decided that he needed to celebrate, so they gathered at Greg’s local for some darts and a pint or four.

Greg sat at the table and looked around. The usual suspects were there, plus John and Sherlock. Those two had finally gotten their shit together and Greg, like everyone else, was relieved and pleased as punch for them.

To his shame, however, in the dark hours of the night, his gut burned with jealousy. His divorce was final, his kids were grown. He hadn’t had a partner, sexual or otherwise, since his brief fling with Mycroft Holmes, and that had been ages ago.

Mycroft was the most interesting person Greg had ever dated. He was more interesting than his pain-in-the-arse brother, even, which was quite something. He looked divine in a jumper and jeans. He smelled like expensive cologne and leather. He made the most delicious noises when…Greg groaned and scrubbed his hand across his forehead. He really needed to stop thinking about this.

Mycroft was powerful. Very powerful. It had been a huge turn-on for Greg, who in his own right was a strong and confident leader in his career, to let go and have Mycroft take control. He arranged when and where they would meet, what they would do. Greg sat back and enjoyed the ride ( _so to speak_ ) whenever he could get his attention. Which wasn’t very often. And when Greg started to ask if they could spend a bit more time together, Mycroft had balked and said they probably shouldn’t keep seeing each other. He was afraid Greg had become too attached. Greg was starting to fall in love, it was true. So he had gone along with it, they had parted on friendly terms. But Greg missed him, the big posh prat.

Greg looked around at all of his friends. He noted that John and Sherlock had disappeared. He smirked as he took a last swig of his pint. He knew he shouldn't, but he hoped they were up to something that might earn them ASBOs. He’d always had a bit of a public sex link himself.

His sweep of the room abruptly ended when he spotted a tall dapper figure standing near the doorway. They locked eyes. Greg couldn't look away. Mycroft was dressed casually in Blundstone boots, dark jeans, waxed cotton Barbour jacket, and an emerald green scarf.

Greg swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Mycroft tipped his head to the right, indicating that Greg should come join him in a quiet alcove near the end of the bar.

Greg got up and walked towards him. They stood together, closer than necessary. Mycroft smelled amazing, as always, and Greg felt fluttering in his belly.

“Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you. Thanks for coming.”

Mycroft smiled. His genuine, warm smile so few got to see. Greg adored that smile. God, he was still smitten even after all of these months.

“How did you find out about this?” Greg immediately regretted asking. He really didn't want to know if he was being surveilled by the man who broke his heart.

Judging from his smirk, Mycroft seemed to be able to read his mind ( _damned Holmeses_ ), but reassured him with one word, “John.” He added, “I'm afraid I don't have a gift for you.”

“It's all right, I'm just happy to see you.” He looked down at his feet, knowing he was giving away too much.

“I'm pleased to see you too.” He cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes. When they looked back at each other, Greg saw the look on Mycroft’s face and inhaled sharply. He looked nervous and a bit sad, but also hopeful.

“Greg…” he began, but stopped and waited for a minute.

Greg waited breathlessly.

Mycroft continued, now in a rush, “I miss you. I know I ruined everything, but I want to ask if you could possibly forgive me and let me have you again.”

Greg stood stock still, heart racing. It was everything he wanted.

“I want to start again, and treat you like you deserve, and exclusively. I want us to be exclusive.”

Greg knew he should protect his heart. He knew it was a huge risk to go back. What if he got too busy and forgot about him again? What if he changed his mind? What if...what if Greg took a chance on this gorgeous brilliant man and let himself love and be loved?

Greg could only answer one way. He placed both hands on the sides of Mycroft’s face and leaned in to touch their lips together. Their lips touched in a gentle kiss. With slight suction and a slow slide, Greg ran his tongue along Mycroft’s lower lip, their mouths immediately opening to deepen the kiss. Their tongues danced and teased as they began to breathe harder. Hands roamed over faces, necks, shoulders, mussing each other's hair. God, how Greg had missed this.

They lost themselves in the sensation of wet kisses, lust, and deep sighs. Tongues twined over and over again. Greg paid no attention to their surroundings. He had Mycroft again and he wasn't going to let go.

Until someone screamed.

A loud, high shriek caused them to part lips. Though they were startled, their hands remained on each other but they both turned towards the awful racket.

There they saw John pulling Sherlock away from the bar. Sherlock was retching and muttering.

“Oh my god, I'll never open my eyes again. Leave me John, but first get me some bleach.”

John rolled his eyes, “You are such a drama queen. Stop it.” Meanwhile, he had Sherlock restrained, arms pinned to his sides and was practically carrying him to the door.

“I have to go into my mind palace, it must be deleted. I have to delete it. Delete. Erase. Delete. Oh god,” he babbled.

John wrestled the madman out the door, “You're such a dick. They're happy.”

“Let me go, I feel faint. I need bleach. Eye bleach.”

John muttered, “For fucks sake, Sherlock. Enough.”

Just as John shoved Sherlock clear of the door and onto the sidewalk, he turned to Greg and Mycroft with a wink and a thumbs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg ended up kissing Mycroft in this story because that's what my Tumblr friends (and me, secretly) wanted. I think it also works a little better - Sherlock can lose his shit that much more because of Mystrade. Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	4. Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating goes up for this chapter :)

Sherlock was doing the thing with his tongue. _God_...John didn’t want to think about where or when Sherlock learned to do the thing, but he was grateful he had and that he only appeared to want to do it to John. Over and over again.

John groaned, running his fingers gently through Sherlock’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead so that he could see better. The view was stunning. Sherlock’s pink lips stretched around the head of his cock, aquamarine eyes staring into his own.

“You are so fucking beautiful. I love you.”

Sherlock opened his mouth, leaving John’s cock on his tongue.

“Low ya tah.”

John threw his head back and huffed out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm…” After that, they stayed silent except for a few sharp breaths, and wet slurping noises.

It was only a few moments later that John was having an out of body experience. Waves of pleasure wracked through his frame as he pumped steadily into Sherlock’s waiting throat. Sherlock made him come so hard his feet were numb for a few minutes after.

“Now you, sugar.”

“I’m...I’ve...I have.”

John had not noticed at the time but Sherlock must have been so on edge that he couldn’t wait. John was slightly regretful and slightly flattered that the act of sucking his cock could reduce his normally composed friend into a man with the libido and stamina of an adolescent boy.

“Come here.”

Sherlock crawled up to sit on his lap, curling up in his arms, head resting on the back of John’s chair. They stayed like that for many minutes, John smoothing his hand up and down Sherlock’s back.

“I do love you. I couldn’t really say clearly it before,” Sherlock chuckled. John laughed and kissed his temple. “I didn’t think I’d ever have a real friend, much less...what we have.” He looked up at John’s face and placed his hand along his jaw. “You are more important to me than anything, even the work.”

John blinked down at him, tears prickling dangerously at the back of his eyes. He never expected to gain the love and trust of the most interesting, gorgeous, sexy, infuriating genius on the planet, but somehow he had. His heart swelled to bursting as he softly said, “You’re everything to me too.”

Sherlock curled up to snuggle down deeper into John’s lap. They sat there, breathing each other’s air, in John’s chair, on a Wednesday in September, feeling endlessly grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	5. Hair

“Ooof!” John knew it was Sherlock so he didn’t react defensively to the sudden tackling from behind, but he was annoyed. “What are you doing, you arse?”

“What are _you_ doing?” Sherlock accused. He pressed hard against John’s back, causing his torso to bend over the counter. John pushed back, trying to stand up straight again.

“The dishes,” he yelled, “Now get off me!” John pushed hard, arse to pelvis. This had the desired effect of causing the big posh limpet to stumble backwards, which allowed John to do three things simultaneously. He turned quickly, flicked sudsy water at Sherlock’s face, and yelled, “Git!”

Sherlock stood there, frozen. He stared at John, soap bubbles clinging to already-damp curls.

He breathed, reverently, “John…”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Your hair…”

John just looked back at him, confused. He had put a bit more product in it and decided to comb it away from his forehead. It was still fairly short and mostly grey, just...pushed up a bit.

Sherlock started pacing and muttering, “No. No. No. It should be all right,” he nodded, “It will be fine.”

John reached out and grabbed his bicep, hand still wet, causing a dark blue stain to appear in Sherlock’s silk dressing gown. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and dropped his hand. “What’s wrong with you?”

Sherlock stood frozen again, staring at John’s hair. “We’ll just have to deal with it. You love me right?”

“Of course I do. What will we deal with?”

“You only love me? You only want to be with me. We are in a committed monogamous relationship, correct?”

Sometimes things needed to be explained very clearly to Sherlock. “Yes. Yes, of course,” He didn’t know what had gotten into his flustered friend so he sought to re-assure him of the thing he was surest of. John grabbed a towel and dried his hands. He ran his hands up Sherlock’s chest, noting he was breathing shallowly with agitation.

“Honey, I don’t want anyone else. I want you too much. I want you all of the time. It’s distracting how much I want you. I will never want anyone else again for the rest of my life.”

Sherlock visibly relaxed during John’s declarations of devotion and soothing chest-rubbing.

“Good, that’s good,” Sherlock said, and added thoughtfully, “When we go out we’ll have to account for the time we will need to fend off amorous admirers -”

John raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“- and it will take ages for the shopping, but maybe we can take a cab. Then we’ll only have to worry about the cabbie instead of whole streets full of people who will be throwing themselves at you. We can spend more time in the flat or at Bart's, but Molly...and Mike…they are going to trouble, because they already know you. And now you look like...that...plus you are brave and strong and funny and loyal. No, bad idea. We can’t go to Bart’s anymore, I’m afraid.”

During this diatribe, John turned back to the sink and continued with the dishes. Only now he wore a small self-satisfied grin.

Sherlock wandered back towards their room muttering, “Perhaps I should brush up on my Baritsu…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	6. Love

John finally told Sherlock the truth about James.

At John’s wedding he was so jealous. He was so obviously manipulated and teased by A.G.R.A. She loved to watch him squirm. Even at the time, he understood what she was doing and how much she enthusiastically enjoyed hurting him. Unfortunately, that knowledge didn’t stop the pain. He felt jealous, left out, and utterly confused.

He knew it was petty, but he couldn’t help feeling elated after they dispatched John’s wife to a dank cell in the highest security prison in America.

John moved back to Baker Street on a date that Sherlock would have designated a national holiday if he cared at all about holidays. Only a few weeks later, the newspapers screamed about a British Army Major-General caught having a love affair with a lower ranking officer. It had derailed both of their careers temporarily, but each got good private sector jobs despite the scandal. Sherlock was only interested in the story at all because of his interest in John’s interest in Army news.

“I’m glad they’ve landed on their feet,” John said a few minutes after Sherlock had showed him the story.

“Oh? I thought your moral code would cause you to frown on such relationships.”

“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat and squirmed a bit in his chair, looking down at the paper. Sherlock seized on his discomfort, knowing there was some kind of story he was trying not to tell. Sherlock thought that this would be an opportunity to learn something more about John. He suspected, no he knew, that John was a very sexual man, with a string of girlfriends living on three continents.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and parroted John’s response back to him, “Yes, well. Did you know of situations like this?”

John folded the paper and looked at him squarely and boldly, Sherlock thought, in the face. “Yes.”

Sherlock smiled, knowing that John was just bursting to tell him the story. “You have a fondness for flagrantly disobeying the rules, but I thought maybe that started after the Army.”

“Ha ha,” he said humorlessly. “You don’t know what it’s like. You are lonely, but not alone. You are thrown into a place where almost everyone wants you to die, except for your fellow soldiers. It changes you, and you disobey the rules.” He smirked, “because it feels fucking good to do something bad.”

Sherlock adored this version of John. When he showed his wicked, naughty side. He could talk with this John for hours. He tried to coax some stories out of him.

“You obviously have some stories. Come on, off you go.”

John smiled wistfully but said nothing.

“Oh come on! You have to tell me now. Give me a name. One of them had to have a name like Candy or Sherry.”

With a twinkle in his eye, he said, “You want a name?”

“Yes, it’s a start for my deductions.”

“James.”

Sherlock’s teasing grin immediately slid off of his face. He stared at John’s face, which was currently sporting a huge shit-eating grin.

He composed himself after a few moments of silent staring and blinking. Blinking always helped to process impossible information. “Ha ha.”

“I’m serious,” he said still smirking. “I love it when I can stump you. Your genius mind against my tiny brain. I can still surprise the great Sherlock Holmes sometimes.”

He didn’t want to let John know that he was constantly surprised by his friend. He sniffed. He tried to think of a haughty reply that would end this conversation and give him the upper hand, as usual. But he really, really wanted to know the truth.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

John chuckled and it looked for a moment like he wasn’t going to share anything.

“John,” he pleaded, heart racing. If John was not taking the piss, then there was about to be monumental shift of 8.0 earthquake proportions. He loved John, was attracted to John, wanted to plaster himself against John and never move. The only reason he had not thrown himself at John’s feet was that his friend had always declared “I am not gay.” Sherlock had heard it countless times since the day after they met.

Sherlock realized his mistake. John was not gay. But he probably wasn’t straight either. _Stupid! It’s always something._

“All right, all right. I loved him. We loved each other.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

He tilted his head as if to mock Sherlock’s confusion, “Sherlock. I loved him. I wanted us to be together when we got out of the Army. I wanted us to come to London, get a flat, share a bed, maybe get married. You know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Sherlock was suddenly furious. “How would I know? How would I know that you could love a man in that way?” He knew he was giving away too much. He was too angry. In his bones he wanted to stop showing the truth, but his physical form just could not do it.

“Stop yelling. You’re white as a sheet. Sit down.” John got up and held his hand out to try to soothe over Sherlock’s arm.

He flinched away angrily before John could touch him. He had to get away. He had to be alone to process this new information. He ran to his room and slammed the door. He slid down the back of the door and sat on the floor, head in hands, confused and distraught.

He had missed it and it destroyed him. He needed to go back six years, take this new information, and re-evaluate every touch, every word of praise, every lip lick and lingering look. As the panic and anger left his body, a very tiny, very frightening flame of hope flared within his breast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of a cliff-hanger here that will be resolved in Chapter 7 - [Cuddles](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7946890/chapters/18302521). 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	7. Cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second part of Chapter 6 - [Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7946890/chapters/18297607)

John seriously misjudged how Sherlock was going to take news of his affair with James. He thought they were having a light-hearted conversation where he would know something Sherlock didn’t know, for once.

He hadn’t planned on ever telling him. It wasn’t relevant. It wasn’t like Sherlock was interested in John’s love life. He never bothered to keep track of John’s girlfriends’ names. The man himself certainly didn’t seem like he was interested in love for himself. He was terribly manipulative with women and never showed an inkling of attraction to any man.

If anything, he expected Sherlock to be surprised and curious and ask him a million questions. Nothing intrigued Sherlock like learning something new about John. After he said James’ name, he expected, “James Sholto? Wow, amazing. Wasn’t he your superior officer? How did that work? What happened between the two of you to end it? How did he feel about being at your wedding?”

Instead his face lost all color and he looked hurt. Devastated really, like John had betrayed him. John couldn’t imagine what he had done to hurt Sherlock.

John loved Sherlock. He adored him, always had. He was even attracted to him, how could he not be? But he'd suppressed those feelings when he realized they were completely useless. Sherlock was asexual. And friendship was enough for John. He just wanted to work with him and be in his life.

John was the best friend Sherlock ever had, he knew that. But that’s as far as it went. _Right?_ One thing rung in his ears _How would I know that you could love a man in that way?_ Sherlock had looked so distressed.

In a flash, John knew why. Everything made sense. He could not believe his own brain. He stood in the center of the living room replaying their conversation. He recalled every word, every gesture, and he grew surer and surer. He had no idea how long he’d been standing there, but the flat was quiet and Sherlock had not come out of his room. John needed to go to him.

John walked to Sherlock’s bedroom door and knocked softly. He heard a quick scrape of something on the door and a muffled breath. Sherlock must be sitting right there, on the floor. John sat down too.

“Sherlock, will you please come out and talk with me?”

No response.

“I need to talk to you.”

No response.

“All right. We can do it like this.”

He heard a thud he hoped wasn’t Sherlock’s head hitting the door.

“I’d rather see you, but I think I can deduce why you are locked away in there from what happened earlier.” John was hoping for some response, but when he got none he continued, "I’m sorry I never told you I was bisexual. I really didn’t think it would matter to you. But I realize now that it does. But what...what I’m going to ask...what is so fucking scary...because you are the most important person in my life. The most important, Sherlock.” He paused, hearing a bit of movement. “So I want to ask how you feel about me. Because I’m open to things, lots of things. I’m open to never talking about this again, although I would not prefer that, but I would do it for you. I’m open to exploring more than friendship if that was something…” He trailed off and stopped his awkward rambling.

He heard rustling and suddenly the door opened. John scrambled to his feet. Sherlock was still holding the doorknob, eyeing him wildly. “You want to ask how I feel about you? After all of these years?”

John was taken aback at his incredulous hostility and became defensive. “Maybe I don’t. You look like you hate me right about now.”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around himself in a sort of self-hug. He looked down at the floor, and calmly said, “I don’t hate you, John. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

John looked at him hopefully. He smiled a bit and said, “Do you want me to say it first?”

Sherlock nodded once at the floor.

“As I said, you are the most important person in my life. I’ve always admired your brilliance, of course. And you can be so funny. I love to laugh with you,” he smiled, “but when I love you the most is when I get to see your heart, when you let your guard down and show how much you care for your parents, or Mrs. Hudson, or even Mycroft.”

Sherlock looked up at John. His eyes were watery, his lip quivered and he looked absolutely terrified.

John looked him straight in the eye and said, “I also think you are gorgeous. I love they way you move, your body is strong but you are so graceful. I love your voice, and you look fantastic in a suit, and your hands...”

His words were stopped by Sherlock’s lips on his.

Later when they were buried in the quiet shelter of Sherlock’s bed, John cradled Sherlock against his chest, stroking up and down slowly. He finally had told his madman how he felt, and had heard similar declarations in return. If anything could be more perfect than cuddling with his gorgeous genius in sheets smelling of expensive shampoo, laundry soap, and sex, then he didn’t know what that might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	8. Balloons

March 1, 2017 11:27 am 

There had been an attempted murder in Bristol. The DI there, Hayes, had called Dimmock for help, God knows why. Dimmock is a total disaster, according to Sherlock, and I’ve also seen it first hand. Dimmock called Lestrade, then Lestrade called Sherlock for consultation. I had two shifts at the clinic that I just couldn’t get out of so Sherlock had to go to Bristol on his own. He wasn’t too happy about that, but he wouldn’t have been that happy to go with me either. Bristol isn’t London. And balloon festivals were not somewhere you would find Sherlock Holmes. Without a murder, that is.

As soon as he arrived, he was taken to see the murder weapon, or attempted murder weapon since thankfully no one died. It turned out that the would-be killer had placed some kind of ignition devices on the rigging wires that held the gondola to the balloon itself. As the balloon gained altitude the inner part of each device was to expand, break, and ignite. Fire on the rigging would sever the connection and the victims would fall to their death. However, only two ‘bombs’ actually ignited so the basket stayed connected and after a few harrowing moments, the pilot landed the aircraft safely on the ground. The passengers had all heard loud popping noises and saw small chemical fires on the lines. Luckily, the six passengers plus the pilot landed safely. 

Sherlock solved it in 20 minutes. I imagine berating Hayes for wasting his time took longer than that. The six passengers were part of an extended family. After looking at everyone’s Facebook and Snapchat it was clear who had done it, at least to Sherlock. A grad student, Richard, from the Physics Department at Bristol University was in love with one of the daughters, but it seemed she didn’t return his affections. She lived in Edinburgh and was not in the balloon that day, but Richard thought that if her whole family died tragically, then he could swoop in and comfort her. 

It was the plan of a dangerous and deranged narcissist. If someone doesn’t return your sentiments, what can you do? One cannot go around murdering people’s families as seduction. 

No, seduction is all about trust and chemistry. It’s about trying to make the other person see how perfect you would be together. How you fit together, and have done since the day you met. How that person dominates your thoughts, your fantasies. It’s about assurances and flattery. It’s about hope, that someday he will see how close you’ve become, how invaluable you are to each other. It’s about entertaining him when he’s bored, or feeding him when he doesn’t realize he’s hungry, or softly quieting him when he's hurting and you’re bandaging up 

Christ, I really can’t put this on the blog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	9. Cooking

“Don’t stop!”

“You stopped,” John accused.

“I had to stop, I’m close. I don't want to bite you,” Sherlock panted.

That was the trouble with this position. Everyone’s mouth was busy so verbal communication stopped the action. “Good. I’ve got you. Keep going, and I’ll keep going.”

Sherlock looked down his body at John. They were each on their sides, curled around each other. From below, he could see that strong jaw and cleft chin. He could see John’s tongue licking up and down his shaft, sucking at his head.

He pulled off and looked down his body at Sherlock. They stared at each other and smiled, each holding the other’s erection. Sherlock instructed, “Go on now.”

John hummed as his mouth hovered over Sherlock’s desperately hard cock. Involuntarily, Sherlock’s hips thrust up and the base of his cock hit John in the nose. John simply rubbed his nose up and down the shaft, inhaling deeply. “You smell so good, I want to keep you like this forever.”

Sherlock groaned and took John’s cock back into his mouth. It was a relief. John’s cock was meant to be down his throat, his tongue was designed to flatten and cradle the head of John’s erection. And when his own cock was down John’s throat at the same time? Well, all was right in the world.

After only a minute Sherlock felt the familiar tension building in his lower abdomen, his balls drawn up tight against his body. He hated to pull off, but he had to warn him, “Gonna come,” Sherlock said through gritted teeth. John redoubled his efforts and sucked harder, pumping his hand quicker along the shaft. Sherlock’s mouth went slack, anticipating his impending orgasm. John took advantage of this to start fucking into Sherlock's throat. Sherlock moaned at this realization. He was going to come with the taste and smell of John burrowed in all of his senses. He was absolutely giddy at the thought of it.

He tried to warn John with a quick, light pinch to his thigh. After all, he could not speak.

John seemed to understand and pushed the hand not grasping Sherlock’s cock against his arse to drive his erection further down John’s throat. Afraid of hurting John, he reluctantly pulled off at the last possible second and rested John’s erection on his cheek. Sherlock stilled and arched his back, pulsing his release down John’s throat over and over again. He was vaguely aware of his quiet strangled cry emitted through gritted teeth. God, John knew how to milk the pleasure out of him.

Post-orgasm, he redoubled his efforts to give John his. He licked around and around the sensitive crown of John’s impressive erection. Sherlock loved this part of John, it was arguably his favorite. Along with his eyes, arse, hands, hair, chin, jaw, ears, calves, nipples, _oh, who was he kidding?_  He pumped his hand up and down the shaft, sucking strongly at the head, causing John to moan. All of John’s muscles became taut and Sherlock knew he was close. One last thrust and his throat was held open by John’s pulsing cock. He hummed around it, feeling so grateful for the unimaginable pleasure of making John come, feeling his beautiful release, his incredible pleasure. Sherlock loved everything about sex with John but John’s pleasure was paramount, the ultimate goal.

John laid there with his eyes closed, humming on every exhale, rubbing his hand softly over Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock had his head resting on John’s hip, smiling at his blissed out boyfriend.

John opened his eyes and shifted position so his head was on Sherlock’s hip. He kept stroking over Sherlock’s skin. He was in heaven. He was ready to pull John to his chest, curl up and sleep. His stomach, however, betrayed him and rumbled loudly.

John rolled his eyes, “When did you eat last?”

Sherlock smirked, “Just now, you were there.”

John chuckled weakly at his lame joke, “I hope you found it as delicious as I did, but I mean real food, love.”

“I ate this morning, and I know you were planning to make dinner.”

“No, I was going to order Thai.”

Sherlock scrunched up his nose in confusion, “You were planning to make the thing with the peas.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Hmm...maybe that wasn’t you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it ever really John who made the thing with the peas?
> 
> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	10. AU (Shoot this)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU that doesn't fit into the world of the rest of the chapters of this collection. 
> 
> Trigger warning: there is implied non-con for a young drug-using Sherlock (this is something John wonders about but is not talked about or confirmed).

This was no Afghanistan. This was New York City. It was oddly refreshing. New Yorkers tended to be direct, creative, judgemental, and dressed all in black. He fit right in with these brusque people though he hid it well, especially back home in London. He could hide behind his non-threatening, eternally polite English persona there. In the UK, he hid in plain sight so people didn’t recognize his damage. Also, people didn’t realize that he had trained with the Israeli army and knew not only how to disable several threatening armed people by himself, all at once. He also knew how to kill a person with one finger. One very well-placed, well-timed finger. John Watson may be a fashion photographer now, but he was still a deadly weapon in a cardigan.

John preferred to work without an assistant but when his agent Greg pushed Billy on him, he couldn’t really say no. Billy was tall with greasy hair and dark circles under his eyes. At least he was English.

They met at a flat in Brooklyn. It was small but with gorgeous light and an exposed brick wall. When Billy showed up John’s brain supplied, _tired, drugs, tall, no threat, handler_.

That last word was all that mattered. It didn’t matter that he was on drugs. John had been in the fashion world for enough months to have seen some things. He’d seen people be half off their arses and still function professionally. So if Billy could handle the model and keep the light meter calibrated, then John was happy.

John had just set up the fill lights when the door flung open and a very young, very tall young man walked in. He was dressed in a worn, dirty t-shirt, jeans, black boots, and a beautifully tailored almost-black overcoat.

He was fucking gorgeous. _Ah, the model then_. His cheekbones jutted from his face, his lips were impossibly full and pink, and his eyes...what?...his eyes were too light for a man ( _no, boy_ ) with such dark curls. He never stopped moving, swishing his coat about, fingers fidgeting, rapidly blinking as he took in the space. 

“Hello, I’m John Watson, the photographer.” He stuck out his hand to shake the boy’s hand.

The model assessed him with grey ( _no blue, no green, no grey_ ) eyes. His eyelids narrowed but he did not extend his hand.

“John,” he said. John was unsurprised to hear a British accent. Models came from all over the world to work in New York.

The model quietly observed him. His eyes jumped away from John to stare down at his own body. “How and where do you want me?” His tone was almost innocent, but the words were laced with the double meaning of a young beautiful lad who had been manipulated in unsavory ways.

“What’s your name?”

He walked around the room then paced rapidly back and forth in front of the windows. He answered, “Sherlock Holmes.”

“May I call you Sherlock?”

Luminescent eyes rolled, “Of course.”

“All right. Can I get you some water?” John indicated a small bag in the corner where he’d stashed a few bottles.

“No, I don’t think you can offer me what I need.” He didn’t quite sneer, but it was clear that he was not impressed with John’s politeness. John was not about to “offer him what he needed,” or what this young addict thought he needed. This boy didn’t need more...cocaine, John guessed...he needed sleep and some food.

 _Ok then. Have it your way._ This boy was beautiful and John knew he was going to be stunning in the photographs, but he’d had just about enough of the strung out hyperactive child stood before him.

He had a voice. A particular way of speaking, like the Majors with whom he’d spent so much time. “Take off your coat. Stand here,” he pointed at a spot near the windows.

Sherlock stilled, staring at John's stern face. He responded beautifully, quickly shedding the heavy coat and scrambling to stand as directed.

“Good. Beautiful. Thank you.”

Sherlock stared at John, both hands tightening into fists.

“Can you relax? We're going to start now.’

Sherlock looked at him, scowled actually. He looked like he was trying to figure out a terrifically difficult puzzle. After a moment, his face relaxed, a smug expression took over his lovely features, and he crossed his arms.

“Something wrong?” John asked.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“What?”

“War photographer, hurt badly in a friendly fire incident right after the Reuter’s journalists. You were shot in the…right?...I’m not sure...shoulder. You weren’t supposed to be where you were and you were going to get someone important to you in trouble. Getting shot was inconvenient like that. You were snuck out of the war zone. You left the country, rehabbed in London or the States, and reinvented yourself as an edgy fashion photographer.”

John looked at him, stunned. “You looked me up.”

“Is all of that public knowledge?”

“No.”

Sherlock smirked as if to say _Well?_

“You were mostly correct.”

“What did I get wrong?” he said quietly. He seemed smaller somehow, seeking John’s approval.

John just smiled, loving Sherlock’s full attention on him.

“What?” he asked, irritable again.

“Left shoulder,” John smiled a large genuine grin. How had this stupidly exquisite creature seen John so completely.

The boy hummed thoughtfully, then smiled, “So, should we begin?”

“I think so Sherlock Holmes. You are looking seriously beautiful in this light and my camera can’t wait.”

Sherlock smiled a small, shy grin, “I’m yours for the taking.”

John just stared, wondering if this young model, clearly still high, understood just what he was saying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to write a whole fic with these two as model and photographer. Down the road, this might just be developed into a longer story...how are we feeling about that? (edit: full length fic is in then works)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	11. Animals

The victim’s lips were blue, clearly a lack of oxygen. Actually, there were signs of cyanosis on his hands and feet also. He was found alone in his flat. Evidence of a happy life was all around him. His refrigerator was covered in photos. There were group photos of sweaty, smiling groups of friends on camping trips or at football matches. He even had a pet frog that looked fat and healthy.

“Why do you think this is a murder?” John asked.

Sherlock answered before Anderson could open his mouth, “Asphyxiation is extremely rare in the absence of obvious trauma to the neck except in cases of anaphylaxis. Here there is evidence of neither. Clearly poisoning. Was it accidental or murder? I need to find the poison and the motive to prove the latter.”

He swept his eyes around the room. The flat was a studio so they could inspect all of the man’s possessions in 55 square metres. He came over to where John was still looking at the photographs. He placed his hand on one shoulder. John looked up at him and smiled weakly.

“Bloke had a lot of friends,” he pointed at the one with the woman, “This looks like a sister.”

Sherlock hummed in agreement. “No girlfriend, but this man here, is clearly in love with the victim.”

“How can you tell from just these photos? You’re not exactly the most perceptive when it comes to telling if a man is in love with you or not.” John was teasing, but Sherlock blushed anyway.

He mumbled, “It seems I have a blind spot when it comes to my own relationships.” He nudged his elbow into John’s ribs. John responded with a wink.

Sherlock barked out, “Where’s his mobile phone?”

Anderson handed it over and said, “We’ve already looked through it. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Sherlock completely ignored him and flipped through the recent calls and texts quickly.

“Find this woman,” he pointed to a name, Elizabeth, in the phone contacts. “The victim was newly dating Elizabeth, and his friend, this man,” he pointed to the photograph on the refrigerator, “was jealous to the extreme. I think that’s the motive”

John raised his eyebrows and said, 'Doesn’t that seem to be a bit of a strong reaction to your friend starting to date a new woman?”

Sherlock looked at John, his face completely blank. He said nothing for a long moment.

He turned to Anderson, “Let me know when you find the friend. He’ll either work in a lab, be an amateur sushi chef, or be a herpetology enthusiast. John.” He swept from the room and John followed.

Hours later, Lestrade texted that they had found the friend and he was indeed a herpetologist. A few exasperated sighs and quick fingers over the screen and Sherlock had solved it.

“Off you go, then.”

Sherlock looked at John and smiled. John knew he wanted to show off, and John wanted him to show off so that they could get to the next part. The kissing.

“Tetrodotoxin. Found in almost all species of blowfish. People eat ‘fugu’ for the thrill of it. They enjoy the tingle on their lips and tongue. Idiots. It’s also found on the skin of a few species of North American salamanders. The friend had some of these newts as pets. The pet frog was a clue. Somehow got the toxin into the victim’s mouth. Lestrade will test the mints I saw and I’ll be able to confirm my suspicion that they were covered in the toxin and left for the victim. The killer wouldn’t have wanted to be there.”

“Brilliant. You are brilliant,” John smiled and pulled him in for a kiss. They kissed deep and slow for several long minutes.

“Thank you.”

Something was bothering John. He was reluctant to bring it up, to open up old wounds but in the interest of good communication he said, “This case got under my skin a bit.”

Sherlock hugged John tighter and buried his nose under his jaw, “Tell me why.”

“I’m sorry. You watched me bring home women. I got married for christ’s sake. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I should have known.”

Sherlock nuzzled into John’s neck further. “I hardly think of that now. I can only think of you and me.” He raised his head to look at John. His lips hovered so close to John’s. He dropped his voice and repeated, “You and me.”

"All right, you and me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	12. Comfort (5+1)

*When Sherlock stubbed his toe on the foot of John’s chair and acted like it was as painful as that time he got pistol whipped in the jaw. Sherlock’s toes were especially sensitive. As soon as John got him to stop jumping around and howling, he sat him down in his chair and kissed the tender toe until Sherlock’s watery eyes lifted to his and smiled, softly saying _thank you_.

*When Sherlock’s mother suffered a fainting episode. They rushed to the hospital near the Holmes’ cottage. She was lying in bed looking pale, but her bright blue eyes were clear. She was saying, _shush now darling, I’m okay_. Sherlock’s lip quivered but he recovered before anyone but she and John could see. _You’re getting the best care, Mum, you’re going to be all right_. John stayed close, asked the doctors all of the right questions, and kept his hand on some part of Sherlock the whole time.

*When Sherlock got an email from a potential client for a case in Serbia. He went still for so many minutes that John, who was on his own laptop at the desk, noticed. _Sweetheart, what is it?_  he asked, as Sherlock drifted towards the bedroom. It was any normal person’s bedtime, but John knew something was wrong. He found Sherlock sitting on the bed shaking. John pulled and prodded him so that he could be undressed, then laid him down, slotting himself forward, chest to chest. He hugged him and ran his hand up and down his flanks, avoiding his scars. _I’ve got you sweetheart, I love you, you’re safe with me, I’ve got you love, I’m here, you’re safe_ until Sherlock stopped shaking and hugged him back.

*When Sherlock tried to use the chip and pin machine but he’d deleted his pin. _Why for christ’s sake would you do that?_ He’d tried too many wrong ones so the machine ate his card.  _Because, John, you usually do the shopping!_ Sherlock loudly demanded that the manager of the Tesco Express, a flustered 20-year old, give back his card. Of course, the manager had no way of doing that. Sherlock flailed his arms about, yelling extremely embarrassing deductions about each cashier, the manager, and the CEO and CFO of Tesco PLC. John stepped in, grabbed him from behind as if doing the heimlich, and dragged him out backwards _Okay, okay, very clever, you idiot, where am I going to do the shopping now? I love you, Sherlock, but you are a handful_.

*When Sherlock was on a case, solved it, but hadn’t eaten for 61 hours. His stomach was rejecting even the water John was forcing him to drink. He was nauseous but listened to John’s advice, because he was right. _Just a bit of toast. Okay, now just this inch of banana. Stop smirking, you knob_. Every 20 minutes like clockwork John handed him a small bland bite of something until he stopped complaining and started kissing John’s fingers with every offering.

*When John watched Sherlock jump off of the edge of a building. They were chasing a suspect, who had led them onto a rooftop of a four-storey building near Brick Lane. Just as John jumped the small wall between buildings to reach Sherlock, who was wrestling with the much larger man, he saw him fall off the building’s ledge, Belstaff fluttering against the starry sky. _Sherlock!_ John ran to the edge through what felt like the thickest mud. He dreaded to look over the edge. When he did he saw Sherlock very much alive, half a floor down, clutching his ankle. The cab ride home was silent. Sherlock’s ankle was sore but intact and didn’t need any diagnosis beyond John’s. Sherlock tried to touch him, tried to get him to look in his eyes, silently pleading _Please, I’m sorry, I’m alive, I knew it wasn’t that far down, I’m sorry_. John wouldn’t look at him so he never saw this quiet appeal. It surprised Sherlock how long it took John to look at him again. It took ages. Sherlock begged. He gripped John’s arms, legs, hair. John just wrestled out of his grasp and every time said through gritted teeth _No_. On the fourth night, John broke. Sherlock had been leaving him alone, completely unsure about what to do. John fidgeted in his chair. Quickly, he leapt to standing, ran up the stairs to his old bedroom, and slammed the door. Sherlock sat still, surprised eyes wide. He went upstairs and opened the door. _John?_ He heard breaths heaving out of John’s wet nose and throat. Sherlock flung himself onto John’s old bed and wrapped himself tightly around John’s back, muscles engaged in strict tetanus. He was never going to let go until John’s tremors stopped. _I love you. I’m here. I’m yours. You’re mine. Please, I’m sorry. I love you so much_. John finally whispered _I can’t, I love you too much, don’t leave me, you will destroy me_. Sherlock crying, said _Please, I love you, we would destroy each other. I’m here now and I promise not to leave you_. They stayed that way for hours until the sobs turned to kisses, and the kisses into snores, and the darkness of a London night comforted them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first 5+1. Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	13. Fall and Birdwatching

“Can’t you hear that?”

“Hear what?” John was trying to fold the washing on the couch, but he was extremely distracted. In fact, he was so distracted that he had abandoned the folding altogether, simply clutching one of Sherlock’s t-shirts to his chest. He’d been standing there, staring at his boyfriend for several minutes.

When John had first come upstairs with the basket full of fresh whites, he assumed that Sherlock was in the bedroom. It was quiet and that’s where he’d left him. But a few minutes later, Sherlock had come tearing into the main room, full of his normal manic energy. He looked like a giant cat, stalking back and forth from window to window, cocking his head at every sound coming from the street. John could only hear traffic noise and shouting now and again.

John was very distracted, however, by what Sherlock was wearing. Or not wearing, as was the case. Sherlock wore an over-large black woolen cap, slouched over his ears like a California skateboarder, leaving just the ends of his curls to twist around the edges. He wore a sleeveless, cropped, mesh t-shirt, black leather Doc Marten boots, and even less explainable than the rest of his ‘outfit’, were bright orange industrial rubber gloves.

John watched as he paced in front of their windows, bare arse muscles flexing. Long, flaccid penis bouncing back and forth with each stilted step, as Sherlock tried to hear something John could not.

John regained composure long enough to put the t-shirt down, walk to the flat door and lock it. This bizarre and somewhat arousing display would be for him and no one else. He walked back towards Sherlock and simply watched.

“The bird, John.”

“I can’t hear a bird,” John said, wondering if he was talking about a woman or an actual bird. Either way, he hadn’t heard anything.

“It’s driving me crazy!” Sherlock pulled his hair with the orange gloves, made a pained face, and stared at his hands. He looked utterly confused about why his hands were covered in industrial rubber and removed them, flinging them in John’s general direction. “It’s a Eurasian wryneck, _Jynx torquilla_ , and it’s very rare for London, hence all of the twitchers in the park”, he pointed to a group of birders with field glasses trained on a nearby tree. “It’s a woodpecker but it doesn’t drum, interesting creature.”

John would never, ever get over what Sherlock knew and didn’t know. He said, sarcastically, “Really?”

Sherlock missed his tone completely. “But why is it singing? It’s fall. He shouldn’t be singing. And his song is so irritating!” He pulled his hair again.

John still couldn’t hear anything. He walked up to Sherlock, pulled off that ridiculous cap, and placed both hands tightly over his ears. Sherlock stilled and looked gratefully down at John.

John knew he could still hear him. “Better?”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“Your outfit is quite distracting.”

Sherlock looked down at himself, then back to John’s eyes. He smirked, “Is it?”

“Yes, what’s it for?”

John’s hands still over his ears, he explained, “Murder at Rupert Street in Soho. I need to go undercover as a bartender to get information about the staff and patrons.”

“Ah,” John said, “And the rubber gloves?”

Sherlock looked awkward, but smiled, “Not part of my disguise, but I had misplaced them and was pleased to find them so I put them on.”

“Hardly a disguise. You have no pants on.”

“Well, when there are pants…”

John chuckled and pulled him down for a soft kiss. Sherlock placed his hands over John’s ears and deepened the kiss. A moment later, they were both breathing heavy and Sherlock’s cock was rising to meet John’s hip.

They pulled their hands from each other’s heads and linked fingers. Sherlock lowered his forehead to John’s and said, “It stopped.”

“What?”

“The damned bird, John.”

“Oh good,” he said, distracted once more.

“Take me to bed.”

“Fantastic idea,” John said as he pulled him towards the bedroom, hastily.

Sherlock laughed, “Eager to rid me of this disguise?”

“Oh no, you’re keeping it on. Even the boots.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love birds and I love these two.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	14. Hidden Talent

The power had gone out again at Baker Street. It had happened so many times over the last three months that Sherlock reluctantly called Mycroft to inquire about the ancient wiring on their block. Mycroft had responded quickly, but there was only so much he could do. When he tended to Baker Street’s Victorian-era infrastructure it had be discreet and infrequent, to avoid the appearance of favoritism. Therefore, it took several weeks for the transformers to be replaced all around Marylebone.

It was extremely inconvenient when they had a case. They needed lights, wifi, charged phones, and the electric kettle.

But when there was no case, they took advantage of the quiet and privacy. They learned after the first time that as long as they had whisky, biscuits, cheese, almonds, grapes, candles, and lube, they were in for a memorable night.

There were ten small tea candle lights placed all around the bedroom. Even Sherlock had to admit that it was romantic. He’d eschewed sentiment, caring, love, and joy until he met John. John had opened him up in a frightening way. But, _oh_ , what a glorious feeling it was to be terrified by the sweet, beautiful love he and John made.

They laid together under the sheets, sweat cooling, come leaking out of each other. Switching was something that they only did when they had time. John took forever to come when being penetrated. Not because he didn’t enjoy it. But because he enjoyed it too much. He demanded he go slow, savoring every drag of Sherlock’s cock against his prostate. _Delicious. Slow. Sweet. Torture_. Sherlock only lasted because of how slow John wanted it. The lazy rhythm gave him enough time to adjust to the friction between thrusts. It also helped him last if he picked a random element from the periodic table and silently recited everything he knew about each...including, but not limited to, atomic weight, year of discovery, atomic composition, melting point, boiling point, and density. He could last ages that way. When John finally came, sweaty and screaming his name, he felt like Eros himself.

The bedroom air was cool on his heated skin. Sherlock pulled the sheet up to cover himself. He noticed the movement made a flurried shadow on the nearest wall. He experimented with his fingers to determine where the light was coming from, and where the shadow would land. To his delight, the shadow landed on the wall nearest to John’s side of the bed.

John was still blissed out when Sherlock made his first shadow animal, a dog. With each movement of his pinky he softly said, “Woof, woof, woof.”

John looked at him as if he’d completely lost his mind and he was vaguely happy about it. “You’re barking. Pun intended.”

“It’s a dog. Woof. Woof.” Sherlock moved his pinky again.

John looked over his shoulder and saw the shadow dog. He hummed noncommittally and closed his eyes.

Sherlock felt like a bit of an idiot woofing in bed, but he was going to take it further because he couldn’t help it. He needed to show off for John.

“Bah, bah, baaaahhhhh,” he brayed, while folding his hands into a perfect shadow goat.

“This is strange.”

“Pffffrroooouuuwww!” He arranged his hands and an elephant appeared.

“Good impression.”

“Honk, honk!” This one only took one arm, but suddenly there was a goose on the wall.

“I had no idea you were so talented.”

Sherlock folded up his hands differently and there appeared another animal. “This animal doesn’t make a sound that I can imitate.”

John lowered his voice in his best imitation of Sherlock and cried, “A rabbit, John!”

He surged up and pinned Sherlock’s rabbity hands near his ears and covered his entire face with tiny kisses.

Sherlock smiled, because this was what he wanted all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	15. Makeup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Chapter 13 [Fall and Birdwatching](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7946890/chapters/18521197)

John watched Sherlock from a dark corner of the bar. He was acting as bartender and was wearing the disguise he’d dreamed up the previous day. Well, he was wearing the actual disguise, not the pants-less version they both had enjoyed for hours yesterday. He wore the mesh t-shirt, paired with snug black jeans, the Doc Marten boots, but he wasn’t wearing the dumb wool hat. Instead, his hair was slicked back away from his face. He wore two matching leather cuffs on his wrists. John really, really liked those cuffs. They were giving him some very creative, very provocative ideas.

As sexy as he looked in the outfit, John’s favorite part was what he’d done with his face. Sherlock was wearing dark eyeliner, mascara, and clear lip gloss.

The enhancement to his eyes was nothing short of stunning. As it was, he had the most beautiful eyes John had ever seen. But with the dark lines surrounding them, they were mesmerizing. John watched as each bar patron reacted with obvious lustful shock when Sherlock leveled his gaze at them.

And the lip gloss? He’d actually gotten tunnel vision when he first laid eyes on that shiny pout. He could see nothing but Sherlock’s perfect plush lips, glossy in the natural sunset light of their sitting room. John was flooded with memories of rubbing his cock back and forth on those lips, polishing them with his release. Another part of his anatomy would soon be flooded if he continued this line of thinking. He cleared his throat and concentrated on his job as protector.

Sherlock was busy pouring drinks and flirting, obviously gathering information. He angled his head, revealing his throat. He threw his head back to laugh, touched himself constantly. He even leaned forward and winked at a few people.

John used to hate watching this. That was before. Before Sherlock was his. And Sherlock was most definitely his now. No matter how much his true love vamped and seduced, John was the only one who knew what Sherlock looked like with a cock in his mouth. His cock, to be precise. He was the only one who knew the little sounds Sherlock made out of his nose when he rode John and got the angle just right. He was the only person who had ever made Sherlock come.

These gorgeous young hardbodies who winked and thrust their hips forward were no match for John Watson. John smirked into his drink. Sherlock looked over at him and frowned. He frowned back and tilted his head as if to say, _What’s wrong?_ Sherlock looked away and continued working.

During the next ten minutes, Sherlock took a break, identified the murderer, and texted Lestrade. The suspect swung at Sherlock’s head with a beer bottle. John’s quick response was to knock the man unconscious with one hand, while plucking the bottle out of the air with the other. Greg and his team swarmed the place, listened to Sherlock’s deductions, grabbed the bottle for fingerprints, and carted him away.

John stood by his side, looking out at men at the bar, and said, “Well done detective.”

Sherlock frowned and shrugged, “All it took was a little flirting.”

John smiled, “Yes, I noticed.”

“But you didn’t react. A little jealousy on your part would have been nice,” he pouted.

John took his hand, kissed it, and said “You’re gorgeous when you pout, especially with that lip gloss.”

“John,” he complained.

“Come here.” John pulled him in for a searing kiss. He tangled their tongues together, making sure to open his mouth a little more than necessary to show their audience exactly how hot and wet the kiss was. He had both hands buried in Sherlock’s slicked back hair, guiding his head sideways to deepen the kiss. He lowered one hand to trail down his throat, squeezing his neck briefly, then traced down his flank to finally rest possessively on Sherlock’s arse. He tugged on his hair causing Sherlock to moan loudly, probably loud enough to be heard over the music. He nipped at Sherlock’s upper lip, then his lower. He ended the kiss with a possessive bite to his lower lip. Sherlock looked dazed and was breathing heavily.

“John,” he breathed, sounding in awe.

John looked around at all of the hungry eyes. “I think we’ve made them the jealous ones.” John grabbed his hand and said, louder than necessary, “Come on, love, let’s go home. I’m going to fuck you so good you forget your name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	16. Holding Hands

Mission accomplished. After Sherlock’s orgasms, he was speechless and incoherent for several long moments. He laid there shivering although the room was warm. John doubted he remembered his name, or their address, or anything other than the sublime sensation of multiple orgasms via prostate stimulation resulting in a final, spectacular ejaculation, that had rocketed up to his neck. John was quite impressed by their performance, if he did say so himself.

Sherlock had rolled back towards John, grabbed his hand, opened his eyes, and smiled his laziest smile.

John kissed his knuckles and said, “Night love.” Sherlock hummed, closed his eyes, and fell immediately to sleep without answering. He soon followed into a dreamless, comfortable sleep.

John woke three times during the night.

The first time they were each on their sides of the bed. John reached over to touch Sherlock’s torso. He had a habit of checking to see if he was breathing. _Don’t judge me, you’d do it too, even years later_. Sherlock reached out his hand and John took it, clasped it like a handshake, rubbed his thumb over Sherlock’s and promptly fell back asleep.

The second time, he was awoken from a deep sleep by Sherlock taking his hand. Sherlock’s hands were gorgeous with long skillful fingers. He took John’s smaller hand between both of his and placed all three between his upper thighs. _What a lovely place_ , he thought as he drifted back to sleep.

The last time, he woke to find his hand in Sherlock’s hovering near those beautiful full lips. “Morning,” Sherlock said, voice deeper than usual from disuse. He turned John’s hand over and kissed his wrist with slow, long, dry kisses. His eyes were closed and John suspected he was taking his pulse with his mouth. He let him because nothing was more important than affirmation, _I’m here_. _I love you_. _We’re us_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	17. Date Night

“Why are we doing this?”

“Because it’s romantic.”

John asked, “Is it?”

Sherlock knew the head sommelier at London’s best new restaurant. Of course, the sommelier just so happened to owe Sherlock a favor. That favor was redeemed with a 8 pm reservation on a Saturday night.

John had put on his best suit in preparation for their date. Sherlock took one look at him and removed the suit. Well, just the trousers. Well, actually, he just tugged the trousers down around John’s hips because he just had to have John in his mouth _Right Now_.

John was dressed again, happy that Sherlock found his suit arousing, because he always found Sherlock’s suits arousing.

When they walked into the restaurant they were ushered to a table in the corner. The restaurant was loud, packed with people, and there was a roving violinist. They ordered wine and a first course, which came quickly. The food was delicious, but weirdly, there was a strong floral smell somewhere near them. It was overpowering the delicate taste of the scallops.

John was silently wondering why Sherlock thought they would like this place, when their usual haunts tended to be quiet, hidden dives known only to a handful of locals, with delicious ethnically interesting dishes. He was extremely flattered, however, that Sherlock seemed to want to wine and dine him in an extravagant restaurant.

“John, you’re fidgeting.”

“I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

“Let’s go.”

“What? We haven’t ordered our mains.”

“I don’t care.”

John was used to Sherlock changing his mind without warning. They stood up, Sherlock settled the bill, which was deeply discounted, and they left. Outside of the restaurant, Sherlock said, “You’re still hungry.”

“Yes, a bit.”

“Wait here.” Sherlock took off around the corner. John scrolled on his phone until Sherlock returned 10 minutes later with a posh-looking bag from a small grocer nearby. “Come on.”

It was after hours, but that was not an obstacle for Sherlock and his lock picks. They entered Regent’s park and Sherlock headed towards a cryptic gate unfamiliar to John. Lock picked, they entered quietly.

John was astonished. A beautiful formal garden gave way to wild walls covered in and wisteria and surrounded by hollyhocks. They found a secluded bench and sat.

“I didn’t know this was here, it’s beautiful,” John looked at Sherlock and grinned, “like you.”

Sherlock smiled shyly and lowered his eyes. “St. John’s Lodge gardens.”

It was hard for John to see in the moonlight, but he was pretty sure Sherlock blushed.

Sherlock pulled out a cold bottle of champagne, two small meat pies, and a box of chocolate truffles. Sherlock opened the bottle and pulled out two tiny paper cups from the bag. He’d thought of everything and John’s heart burst with adoration for him. Sherlock poured the champagne and handed a cup to John, “Cheers.” He bumped John’s cup with his. They sipped.

“I want to make another toast,” he said. Sherlock looked up at him expectantly. “From the very first moment I met you, you filled in my blank spots. You lit up the dark. You healed me. And now that we’ve finally become...what we are now...I can honestly say I have never been happier. I love you.” He raised his cup.

Sherlock didn’t take his eyes off of John and bumped their cups together. Sherlock leaned in and kissed John sweetly. He pulled back and said, “I love you too.”

John smiled, “Now _this_ is romantic.”

“Is it?” Sherlock grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Come find me, I'm [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	18. Pining

“Sorry we couldn’t do a double room for you boys.”

John decided that it wasn’t worth trying to explain how things actually were to the proprietor of Cross Keys Inn. He hated saying ‘it’s not like that’, because he very much wanted them to be ‘like that’. He had endured months of everyone around them assuming that he and Sherlock would be perfect for each other. It was just plain irritating.

Also irritating was that Sherlock was completely clueless about the assumptions. He never denied it, but then again, he probably didn’t even know what people were talking about. He was oblivious to the fact that everyone who met them presumed they were together romantically.

Sherlock was also positively ignorant of his own attractiveness. When they first met, John was amused by the double-takes and long stares from the people they met. Sherlock’s stunning beauty was a mystery. The wide-set blue-green eyes, high cheekbones, impossibly full lips should not have worked together. His face was so alien, so strange, that John sometimes just stared at him to try to make it make sense. The eternal question was how those features worked together to make the most gorgeous face he’d ever seen on any man or woman.

Sherlock’s deep voice resonated within his chest, so when he spoke, one did not only hear the beautiful baritone, but feel it. John got close to him whenever he could. When he spoke, John loved to let the waves of sound run through his muscles and down to his bones.

Sherlock’s fingers were long and impossibly graceful. He was thin, probably too thin, but his body was strong and muscular. John could write poetry, and probably would start any day now, about his arse and hips. It was sinful that man so tall and slim should be so dorsally well-endowed. All of the contradictions were what made him so stunning.

Topping still John’s physical attraction, was his deep admiration of Sherlock’s brain. He was brilliant. He was driven to solve crimes in order to help people because he was brave and right.

Sherlock was funny, sometimes unintentionally. They laughed until tears streamed down their faces. No one had made John laugh like Sherlock. Sherlock saved him and he would be grateful to him until the day he took his last breath.

But there was no way forward for John. Sherlock was not interested in John like that. He couldn’t have been more clear on that point.

xxx

“Sorry we couldn’t do a double room for you boys.”

Sherlock heard the proprietor say this to John. He couldn’t quite make out John’s response. _Probably his usual denial_ , Sherlock sighed. There was nothing for it. No remedy. Just the familiar frustration he felt whenever someone mistook he and John for a romantic couple.

On their first night together he thought John was attracted to him and had been flirting with him. But his denials that night, and his subsequent repudiations were so convincing that Sherlock knew he was mistaken. Sherlock hated that he had a weak spot, but he did. He had never learned to recognize when someone was chatting him up.

Reality didn’t stop the fantasies that he had about that night. In his dreams, they snogged in the hallway after Angelo returned John’s hateful cane. Sherlock just knew it would be the best kiss of his life. After that, Sherlock would take John, a practical stranger, to bed and never let him leave. They would do absolutely everything. John would let him look, touch, and taste everywhere. He wanted to raise gooseflesh on John’s skin, lay his tongue over each of the millions of hair follicles on John’s body, press his fingers into John’s mouth. He wanted John’s smell to cling to his skin, John’s sweat to drip onto his limbs, John’s saliva and come to mix on and in his body. He wanted to belong to John. He wanted John to be his.

They were partners and friends. There was no way forward for Sherlock. He had accepted that, but he couldn’t stay inside Cross Keys to listen to one more of John’s denials. He went outside to interrogate the charlatan peddling monster stories.

xxx

That night, as they laid in twin beds, side by side in the cramped room, neither said a word. All that could be heard in the room was the soft sounds of breathing. Each man tried to calm himself, navigating through the unfamiliar feeling of sharing a bedroom. Each man viscerally hated the one-meter space between them. It felt like a vast gulf, wider than the English Channel. Neither knew it was really a small brook, easily jumped, if either of them would simply try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	19. Rainy Days

John stood at the stove, frowning as he stirred his soup. Sherlock watched the rain fall and wondered how to get John to stop frowning.

They had been getting on just fine, but a small misunderstanding turned into a large row, complete with shouting and hurt feelings. Sherlock knew he had hurt John by being impatient and unreasonable. He was just _so frustrated!_ The rain wouldn’t stop and they hadn’t had a really interesting case in weeks.

The tension was unbearable. Sherlock couldn’t stand it anymore. He walked over to John and draped himself all along his back. John sighed and continued to stir.

Sherlock rested his chin on his left shoulder, watching the slow motion of John’s hand and the spoon. They stayed that way for several minutes until John put down the spoon and turned off the burner. Neither of them moved.

“I’m not sure why you think you can say such horrible things to me.”

Sherlock wove his arms around John’s waist and hugged him. He rested his forehead against John’s shoulder.

Sherlock whispered, “I don’t think I can. I just do.”

John didn’t move, but his head hung down slightly lower.

“I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, you do.”

Sherlock hugged him closer and turned his head so his lips were pressed against John’s neck. He mumbled, “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, love.” Sherlock rarely called John anything other than John, but his regret was a palpable knot sitting on his chest, and he would do or say anything to make John forgive him.

John turned, and wrapped his arms loosely around Sherlock’s waist and brought their foreheads together. “I know you’re sorry now.” He looked profoundly sad and he wouldn’t look at Sherlock’s eyes.

“Please, I am sorry. I’ll try. Please,” Sherlock begged. He lifted John’s chin and John looked at him. He looked him in the eye and whispered, “I’m sorry, please.”

John lifted his chin, placed a small peck on his lips, and said, “All right.” John turned around, grabbed a bowl and poured himself some soup. “Do you want some?”

“No.”

John sat at the table and ate his soup, looking slightly less sad, but still not his normal self.

Sherlock knew that he’d been forgiven, but the argument was an old one. He got frustrated, and took it out on John. John had never threatened him, but he knew there was only so much that he could take before he would leave him. The thought of losing John sent a jolt of terror through his frame. He vowed right then to remember that feeling whenever he felt a black mood coming on.

In the meantime, he wanted to cheer John up. To help them move past the lingering tension. He needed to see John smile.

He picked up his violin and started playing. John looked up and smiled briefly, clearly recognizing the song. He went back to his soup. Sherlock sang, “I’m singin’ in the rain, just singin’ in the rain, what a glorious feeling, John’s happy again.”

John looked at him but didn’t laugh at Sherlock’s lame joke. Sherlock’s face dropped and he rushed over to John. He knelt down and kissed John’s cheek, “Please, John, I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry.” Sherlock hugged him as tight as he could until John raised his arms and hugged him back.

Sherlock pulled away, kissed his lips sweetly.

John said, “Okay. Everything is fine, love.”

Sherlock desperately hoped it was true. From what he could deduce, John was cautiously accepting his apology with the grace that partners in long-term love affairs knew well.

Sherlock got up and started to play another tune. John smiled this time, a genuinely amused, open smile. “How do you even know that song?”

Sherlock shrugged and quietly sang along with the music, “Purple rain, purple rain…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	20. Stargazing

“Will you slow down, please?”

John followed after Sherlock but was having a hell of a time keeping up with the long-legged prat. Usually he didn’t have this much trouble, but after a bottle and a half of cabernet his legs were not cooperating.

_Dizzy. Long-legs. Too fast. Grass._

They walked across a vast lawn in Regent’s Park. It was a warm early summer night. Despite the weather, they each had their long coats on. Sherlock with his beloved Belstaff, and John with his A.P.C. car coat.

“What are we doing, you great idiot?”

For some reason Sherlock thought John’s insult was hilarious, and replied giggling, “We’re walking.”

 _More like stumbling_. “And why are we walking?”

They’d been perfectly, comfortably buzzed in the flat. Well, John was comfortable. When Sherlock drank there was a certain time in the night where he got very restless, usually followed by a crash. John was fuzzily concerned that they would be in the middle of their urban park when the crash occurred. Determined not to worry about it, he began to enjoy the night. The longer they walked, the better he felt.

A few steps ahead of him, Sherlock dropped to the ground without warning. He laid there prone, face towards the sky.

“Sherlock!” John ran over to his boyfriend.

“M’fine John,” he slurred, and produced an unopened bottle of wine and a corkscrew.

John slumped his shoulders with relief. “Give a bloke some warning...” he trailed off and laid down next to Sherlock. “You had this in your pockets?” He grabbed the bottle of wine, opened it, took a swig and offered it to Sherlock. They lounged on the grass, passing the bottle back and forth.

“That’s Sirius,” Sherlock said, pointing to a very bright star. “I learned it after…” He stopped and looked very sad for a moment.

“Hey,” John said, “I’m sorry, I never meant to embarrass you.”

Sherlock looked at him and crinkled his nose, “What? You haven’t...Oh! Oh…” Sherlock seemed to realize something. “I wasn’t thinking about your old blog post. I was thinking about when I...left,” he looked cautiously at John, “I learned the brightest stars and when I looked at them I imagined you were looking at them too.” He paused for a long moment, then took an extra-long draw on the wine bottle. John took his hand. “I dunno...it made me feel better.”

John didn’t know what to say, so he raised Sherlock’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles.

Sherlock continued, “I missed you so much. I was so alone without you. I needed you.” He amended, “I need you.”

“I need you too. Promise you’ll never leave me again.”

“I promise. You say the same.”

“I promise.”

They laid back, looking up at the few stars they could see in the light-polluted London sky. Every once in awhile one of them would sit up to take a sip of wine.

“John, I think we just got married.”

John smiled a huge radiant grin, “No, we didn’t.” Sherlock frowned a bit, so John added, “But someday…” Sherlock’s face transformed immediately, his beautiful lips tugging up at the corners as his face burst into a blinding smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	21. Sickness and Siblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set at some point after Chapter 3 of this work, [Kisses](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7946890/chapters/18206638)

John looked over the chart. _Atherosclerosis, hypertension, myocardial infarction, Mild._ He said, “I don’t see anything here that the doctor didn’t already tell us. He’s had a minor heart attack and is expected to make a full recovery. A beta-blocker, rest, stress reduction, a healthier diet, exercise, and he should be fine for years to come.”

Sherlock was silent. He found it difficult to look at Lestrade. His grey pallor matched his grey hair as he hunched in the small chair next to his brother’s bed. Although he’d been completely shocked that his colleague and friend could love his brother, he couldn’t help but feel for Lestrade. Despite his best efforts, he had empathy. If John was in that bed, Sherlock would be devastated.

Lestrade quietly said, “Thank you, John.” He held Mycroft’s hand, his eyes never leaving his face.

Sherlock couldn’t bear it any longer. He walked out of the room to pace in the hallway. John followed him and watched him pace.

Sherlock was angry. _How dare Mycroft get sick! How could he have allowed his body to break down in this way? Probably too much cake!_ He scowled and tugged at his curls. Mycroft was supposed to be stronger and smarter. Irritating and immortal.

John put his arm out straight and stopped him mid-pace. “Sherlock.”

“What?” he snapped.

John ignored his tone and pulled him into a tight embrace. Sherlock melted into his arms, willing himself to accept strength from his love and closest friend. “He looks so small,” he said shakily.

“He’s going to be fine, love.”

After a few minutes, he felt more steady and was ready to re-enter the room and wait for his brother to wake. It turned out that he didn’t need to wait at all, because Mycroft had woken. He and Lestrade were looking at each other with small smiles. Lestrade rubbed his hand and was whispering something. Mycroft closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Sherlock found that he felt nothing but affection and admiration for the clear love the two men shared.

Sherlock walked around the other side of the bed and took Mycroft’s other hand, and said, “Brother mine.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft whispered. He opened his eyes and the brothers stared at each other. As was their custom, a whole conversation was exchanged with that look. A single tear fell down Sherlock’s cheek. Mycroft frowned, squeezed his hand weakly, and said, “None of that now.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and composed himself. Never breaking eye contact with Mycroft, he said, “Lestrade, I do hope you will stand by my brother despite the likelihood of erectile disfunction.”

Mycroft barked out a hoarse laugh, then smiled at Sherlock’s smirking face. The brothers enjoyed the reactions of John and Greg, both of whose eyes went wide with shock.

In that one moment, Sherlock let Mycroft know the he was loved, and that he hoped he and Greg would be very happy together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope they don't make Mycroft too evil in Series 4...I really love him. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	22. Missing Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can stand the pain, this chapter has to do with [Many Happy Returns](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwntNANJCOE), and includes words lifted from John's blog post of the same name.

“ _5th October - …He wasn't busy, he just... sometimes he struggled to fit in. He couldn't switch off, couldn't relax. He just struggled with people, I think. Yet the video... it showed the other side to him. He was rude, yeah. Arrogant. Apparently lacking in anything resembling empathy. But I'd forgotten just how funny he could be. He was so charming. So... human. It's bizarre because most people would say he was the most inhuman person they'd ever met. But he wasn't. He was everything a good person should be. He'd just often say what he was thinking rather than lying to protect our feelings. Maybe we should all be more like that? Maybe we should all be more honest? Although maybe it was a good thing he didn't come to that birthday dinner…_ ”

John thought back to his birthday in 2011. He and Sherlock were so close right before he died. And they were so close to becoming something more. Something greater together than the two of them individually.

They were closer than two platonic blokes should be. People of all stripes assumed they were lovers. John denied it, always. But Sherlock never did. The thought arose without his permission, _I wonder why he didn’t?_

To explore that thought, or to think about being honest with himself about his feelings, was agonizing. It physically hurt him to think about what he had lost, and to think about what they might have had. It was an ache, radiating from between his shoulder blades outward, it made him hunch over against it. It made him nauseous.

Thinking about Sherlock’s loss was too much for him to bear. He missed his friend down to his marrow. He needed to stop, he needed to move on. He needed to repress, deny, ignore, push away. _Goodbye, Sherlock._

xxx

“ _5th October - ...And now it’s time for me to be honest. I’m meant to be keeping this blog to remind me of the good times. I know it’s meant to be healthy but what’s the point? I need to properly move on. I need to put it all behind me and move on._

_And I’m so tired of deleting comments from people who don’t believe me. Who think all this is a lie. I know it was real. There are so many people out there who know that all this was real. They believed in Sherlock._

_And I’ve found someone. So I should concentrate on that._

_So this’ll be my last blog._

_Sherlock, you bastard, wherever you are. Cheers._

_John._ ”

Sherlock stared at his laptop in horror. This blog post was different. Final.

He had always known there was a chance he would return when it was already too late, now it seemed to be confirmed. His heart sunk with the knowledge that John had found another person to share his life with. He hadn’t been such a fool to think that John would wait for him. But he missed him, he missed home, so much that he could hardly focus on work. For the thousandth time, he thought, _everything would be so much easier if John was here._

He positively vibrated with the intense need to see John, and return to their home and their work.

He needed to concentrate and be really clever, and very careful, just a bit longer. He was almost finished. If he could elude capture and kill before he was killed, this would be his last target.

He tried to sleep, but he was kept awake with the haunting thought, _It has taken too long. It’s been much too long._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure where all of the angst is coming from this week, but thanks everyone for reading! I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	23. Before They Met (and Wedding)

Before I met John, I didn't sleep. I merely passed out after days of restlessness. He helps me to relax, and eventually sleep, in many varied and increasingly creative ways.

Before I met Sherlock, I did not properly appreciate a quiet afternoon. He's so full of energy, it's hard to get him to relax. But every once in awhile, he goes quiet and pliant and, believe me, he's sweet. Those are the afternoons I appreciate the most.

Before I met John, I knew how to be alone. Well, I thought I did. Turns out I was actually desperately lonely. When John is not with me I feel his absence acutely, and I'd rather it not happen anymore, or ever again, really.

Before I met Sherlock, I never imagined I would get used to eyeballs in the microwave and toes in the crisper.

Before I met John, I thought the earth went around the sun. Now I know the sun goes around the earth. Wait. That's not right, is it?

Before I met Sherlock, I didn't laugh. I never laughed until my face hurt, until tears streamed down my face, until my bladder was in danger of bursting. Nothing was joyous or funny or fun before I met Sherlock.

Before I met John, I did not have a body. I did not enjoy food or drink or sex. He has provoked in me cravings like I have never felt.

Before I met Sherlock, I had never made love. I didn't know the deep, beautiful, soul-cleansing power of two bodies coming together.

Before I met John, I was not a man. I was a greedy, unfeeling, selfish boy moving through life in a frenzy. He has shown me how to love and be loved.

Before I met Sherlock, I was not a man. I was a broken, distraught, exceedingly lonely ghost moving through life half-awake. He has shown me how to love and be loved.

Mycroft said, And now for your legally binding vows.

I Sherlock, take you John, to be my wedded husband.

I John, take you Sherlock, to be my wedded husband.

Before Mycroft could say anything else, their lips crashed together, not so much in a kiss, but in a joining of blindingly huge smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some fluff :) I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


	24. Glasses and Eyes

John was losing his vision in the way of old men. He couldn’t see the menu. He couldn’t read the newspaper. He couldn’t read the fine print on the honey he wanted to buy for Sherlock.

Sherlock, of course, could see fine. He tried to be helpful and told John that 41% of the population in the UK needed slight magnification - reading glasses - after the age of 45. John told him to ‘sod off’ and that he could ‘help by shutting the fuck up.’

Sherlock didn’t appreciate his rudeness, and decided to ignore him. Now would be a good time begin the experiment with the skin grafts. He would make sure to set up in full view of his grumpy mate, just to annoy him. If he was lucky, John would sigh audibly.

xxx

A few days later, Sherlock surreptitiously watched John slowly ( _sneakily_ ) pull out a narrow pair reading glasses, the kind you can buy at Boots, and put them on his perfect nose. His dark blue irises were slightly magnified, giving Sherlock that familiar flutter whenever he thought about the uniqueness of John’s eye color. He wondered how he could still be excited, still be thrilled actually, to be the recipient of his indigo gaze after all of these years.

“I see you looking at me.”

“No, you don’t,” he answered, eyes firmly pressed to microscope lenses.

John sighed, “I got reading glasses at Boots. They help. Don’t say anything.”

Sherlock wanted to say a lot about the glasses. He wanted to say how insanely handsome he looked in them. How he had chosen a frame that perfectly fit his face. How much it turned him on to see John’s silver hair and blond lashes behind the black chunky frames. How he looked like a harmless, scholarly, geek chic type of hipster. He wanted to say how spectacularly sexy he looked.

He didn’t say anything.

xxx

John thrust into Sherlock from behind and said, “I love to fuck you. You're perfect.” Sherlock could only grunt in response. He leaned forward onto his elbows, head hanging down until his fringe brushed the sheets. He was trembling slightly, a response to John’s torturously unpredictable rhythm. His nape was wet with hot drops of sweat that slowly moved down each curl. It dripped onto his forearms.

John slowed his movements again and started grinding up against Sherlock’s cheeks in a slow circular motion. John’s hands gripped Sherlock’s hips tightly. His thumbs pinched into the soft globes of his arse, pulling them apart. Sherlock knew John was watching his cock move in and out of his body. The thought sent shivers down his back. His cock jerked and leaked a bit more.

“You're so eager for my cock, aren't you?”

Sherlock moaned, a long drawn out, “Yeesss.”

John leaned forward, changing the angle. Sherlock gasped as the head of his hard cock pressed directly on his prostate. “John!”

“You're fucking gorgeous. I have you. You're mine.” John reached his hands forward and buried one hand in his hair and one slithered around his throat. Both hands tightened, pulling his hair sharply. Sherlock’s neck, exposed, fit perfectly in John's palm. “Give it to me. It’s mine,” John said, thrusting quickly in short, shallow bursts. He tightened his grip on Sherlock’s neck, not enough to restrict air flow, but the hinted suggestion that John could if he wanted, was enormously erotic.

Sherlock’s brain went offline. He could not think of anything but the sensations of John controlling his body and his pleasure. John’s cock filling him perfectly, nudging his prostate on every stroke. Tingles sparking low in his belly. The tightening of his balls in anticipation of ejaculation. The singing sting of his scalp. The firm grip on his neck. It was finally too much. The sensations coalesced and he completely lost control of his mind and body. It was heaven.

He bucked back against John once, twice, and he came, screaming. “John!” he cried, as his body thrashed and shuddered fiercely. Sherlock’s cock was untouched, but the stimulation to his prostate was so strong, he pulsed over and over again onto the bed for what felt like an eternity. Sounds came out of his mouth. He didn’t know what they were, but distantly he recognized that he was panting, “Ah! Ah!”

By the time Sherlock got back some control over his body, he registered that John was coming. He had released Sherlock’s hair and throat to grip his hips. He sleepily enjoyed the feeling of John’s thick cock jumping inside him. He squeezed around John, and smiled lazily when John cried, “Oh god!” at the sensation.

They collapsed together, John a heavy weight along Sherlock’s back. His cock twitched inside him. Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed, “You’ve got me seeing stars.”

“Good. That’s good.” John kissed his neck. Sherlock hummed in agreement.

xxx

Later when they were back in the lounge and John was reading in his chair, Sherlock watched him from the couch. He marveled, again, at his husband. His body was compact - what a lovely word to describe a short man. He was still muscular. His handsome face maintained its boyishness despite him being in his late-forties. John was wearing those infuriatingly sexy glasses, and to top it off, his tongue was going rogue, making brief appearances outside of its appropriate place inside of his mouth. He licked his lips. He poked its tip out and wrinkled his brow, reacting to something surprising in the text.

All the while, Sherlock stared.

When people first looked at John, no one, not a person, including himself, suspected that this studious-looking, patient, brave man was an absolute killer. He was devastating, he was surprising, he was hilarious. He was kind, he could be a sarcastic dick, he was passionate. He was incredibly gentle with Sherlock most of the time, except for those times when Sherlock needed to be commanded. He fucked Sherlock with authority one minute, then calmly read books in his chair. He was complex, nuanced, principled, and intelligent.

Sherlock loved him so much he could not breathe properly.

“John.”

John reacted to Sherlock’s quiet, yet desperate, tone immediately. He looked at Sherlock over the top of the glasses, eyebrows raised questioningly.

Sherlock thought, _I love you so much, I need you, I can’t believe you love me, I’m the luckiest man in the world that you chose me John Watson, please never leave me, keep telling me you love me, keep pleasuring my body, keep kissing me, keep loving me forever._ He didn’t say any of that.

“I like your glasses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Atlinmerrick](http://atlinmerrick.tumblr.com) for posting this challenge for September. Thanks everyone for your kudos and comments, I hoard every one. 
> 
> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


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